


Bits and Bobs

by oldandnewfirm



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldandnewfirm/pseuds/oldandnewfirm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of shorts from the world of Strange Magic. Various pairings/ratings within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompted: Marianne and Bog’s first meeting if she hadn’t gotten away when she fell into the dark forest her wedding day?

“Why are you watching me?”

The dungeon’s shadows didn’t answer her back. Marianne didn’t expect them to.

Her right foot protested as she gingerly shifted around on her mushroom until she was facing the cell bars. The light from her cell barely touched the darkness of the cavern beyond, but she didn’t need to see him to know he was there. His presence felt like a hand slowly squeezing the back of her neck, and the pressure didn’t ease until he was gone. When the silence ticked on past the boundaries of her patience, she narrowed her eyes and said, “I asked you a question.”

A patch of dark dislodged itself from its roost atop one of the cages dangling from the ceiling. There was a low thump of wing beats, and then the Bog King touched down before her cell. The light caught on the edges of his features, lending the sickle curve of his mouth and the sharp angles of his brows a molten glow.

“You don’t give orders here, princess,” the king said. Though he spoke quietly, the echoes of the room made it seem like he’d hissed directly in her ear. Marianne fought the urge to shiver as he strode up to the bars. “And certainly not to me.”

“Asking politely doesn’t seem to work,” she countered, “You haven’t left me many options.”

He wrapped his gnarled fingers around the bars and leaned forward, baring his teeth. “You can keep quiet and be glad I haven’t killed you. Yet.”

“You can’t do that,” she said, with far more confidence than she felt. “You’ll start a war.”

He snorted— whether at the idea of his actions leading to a war, or at the idea of the fairies presenting any threat to the goblins, she couldn’t tell. “If you wanted to avoid that, you wouldn’t have entered my land.” A pause. “And tried to steal a primrose petal while you were at it.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal a petal!” she snapped. “What would I want with one when I’m getting married?”

She swept her hands down her sides, indicating her gown, the once-white cloth now stiff and dingy beneath a layer of mire and dust. “I’d already  _be_ married if your patrol hadn’t decided to grab me when I was trying to  _leave!_ _”_

“Blaming them for your crime?”

She grit her teeth. “I entered the forest  _accidentally._ _”_

“Accident or no, it doesn’t change what you did. If Adrian wants you back, he’ll have to negotiate.”

“My father would never negotiate with a miserable cockroach like you.”

His eyes widened for an instant before he lurched forward and snarled at her. She started out of instinct, and hated herself for it the moment he smiled.

“Keep talking, tough girl. You’ll lose the bed next— or maybe the light.”

She swallowed thickly. She could bear the choking cinder dust in the air, the bleak silence of the passing hours, and even the poorly masked odor of her business stewing in a pot of dried flowers and herbs in the corner. But to endure all of that in total darkness…

He nodded as if satisfied. “Bold, but not stupid. Now that’s a change.”

“ _That cute lil_ _’ mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day, darlin’,”_ Roland had told her once, when she’d spoken a bit too freely in front of some other members of his company. She’d been hurt by the statement at the time, but she heeded its sentiment now. Even though she’d have like nothing more than to rip that smug grin off the king’s face with a few well-placed barbs.

“And as for your father,” he continued, “of course he’d negotiate. Why do you think no one’s come for you yet?”

Her mind had gnawed that very question for days now. In the first hours after her capture she’d expected a fairy regiment to batter down the castle doors, for Roland to sweep into the dungeon with his sword in one hand and the Bog King’s head in the other, and to find herself free of her prison and in the comfort of her fiance’s arms. Instead here she was, being sneered at by the monster that fairy mothers warned their children about at night. A man who, while indeed intimidating, was also kind of an ass. Bog met her unwavering glare with amusement.

“I’d get comfortable if I were you, princess,” he said. “I expect you’ll be with us for quite a while.”

He turned to go.

“It’s Marianne,” she said.

He paused, one foot poised to take him beyond the halo of light that extended from her cell. “What?”

So much for biting her tongue.“If you’re going to insult me, at least do it by name. It’s Marianne.”

“Princess will do,” he said, after a moment.

“And if you want me to be comfortable, a doctor would help.”

“For your foot, you mean?” Another snort. “You wouldn’t need one if you hadn’t decided to attack me.

“Decided” was a strong word. More like, his face just happened to be in the correct kick-able position when her foot launched out with all the wrath of a woman who knew her wedding bells were going to be replaced with the clunking of cell bars sliding home.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the rocky spikes framing the king’s head weren’t just for show. She’d been spared the fatal consequences of her assault by the shrill entrance of a small goblin woman— the king’s mother, according to his exasperated cry— but that hadn’t spared her from fractured toes, a lacerated sole, and constant pain. Dressing the wound with strips of her wedding dress had helped somewhat, but her foot had since swollen as huge and red as an aronia berry and, much as she hated to admit it, it needed to be looked at properly.

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re expecting,” she said.

“You assault me, refuse to apologize, then demand my help? Need I remind you, princess, that this is  _my_ kingdom, not yours?”

She sucked in a breath, counted backwards from ten, and at last ground out, “Sorry. I’m new to the whole imprisonment thing. Next time I’ll be nice and quiet when someone tries to drag me off like a sack of seed.”

She expected him to lash out, to laugh her off, or even to just walk away. Instead, his lip twitched up. “I suppose that’s the best you can do. Very well, I’ll send for the doctor.”

“What? Really?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’d hate to lose my most entertaining captive to something as mundane as blood rot.”

“Entertaining?” She made a mental note to redouble her effort to convince Roland to teach her how to wield a blade after they were reunited. She wondered how “entertaining” the Bog King would find her when she burst into his castle and ran his smug, pointy face through.

“Good night…Marianne.”

She looked up sharply, but the king had already retreated into the shadows. Eventually his silhouette appeared on the stairwell, returning to the world above.

“Good night,” she said tersely. And then, more softly, “thank you.”

She thought she saw him give the tiniest nod. Then, he was gone.


	2. Let's Talk About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a kinkmeme prompt: Griselda reminiscing about her husband and the things they used to do together. Can be her alone time or she can be trying to give her new daughter-in-law The Goblin Talk.

"Now you look like a gal who's tousled in the brambles a time or two," Griselda said.

Marianne choked on her tea. Griselda continued, either oblivious to her future daughter-in-law's distress or, more likely, just ignoring it.

"Come on, dear. You can't fool ol' Griz. Frankly, I'm glad Bog's got someone who knows their way around a stump.” She wrinkled her nose. “Believe me, if he’s as bad as his father was the first time, he’s gonna need the help.”

Between coughs Marianne wheezed out,  “Griselda, I _—really_ don’t—”

“Honestly, I don’t know what it is with goblin men. They’re all full’a piss and bravado when it comes courting, but most of ‘em barely know where they keep their aedeagus, further less the right way to stroke a cloaca!”

Marianne clapped her hand to her chest a few times, banishing the last of her fit before speaking. On the one hand, she appreciated the spirit behind the woman-to-woman talk Griselda was clearly trying to have. On the other hand, she had no idea what an "aedeagus" or a "cloaca" were, but she knew at once that she did not want them defined by the eager woman in front of her. Especially not if said explanation involved more personal anecdotes. She'd made peace with quite a few disturbing ideas since she'd started spending time with the goblins, but she didn't think her sanity would survive the details of Griselda's sex life.

“That’s, uh, too bad." She offered a strained chuckle. “Guys, right?”

Griselda sighed. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em."

A pause followed her statement. It was a small opening, but Marianne knew it was the only one she might get. She pinned on a smile and took a breath, prepared to steer the conversation towards _anything_ else, but that was as far as she made it before Griselda added,  “Fortunately, they get better with time. Don’t you worry, dear; you’ll have some work to do, but give it a couple’a months and I’m sure Bog will be as wonderful to you as my Drax was to me.”

By her last words, her reassuring expression had faded to a frown. She looked Marianne over as if seeing her for the first time. Marianne tensed. Earning Griselda's scrutiny had never boded well.

“Although…" Griselda said at last, "you should probably make sure he minds his claws. And maybe eases up the biting. I’m not sure that squishy skin of yours is really made for how goblins like to play.”

Marianne’s eyebrows shot up. Make no mistake, she was all for things getting a little rough in the bedroom, but she’d been around the goblins long enough to know that their idea of “a little rough” was her idea of “grievous bodily harm.” And a stay at the healer’s guild was not the happy ending she’d imagined to her wedding night. 

She swallowed thickly. “How…how _do_ goblins play, exactly?”

Even as the words left her mouth she thought,  _I'm going to regret this._

It was a fear that became a certainty when a slow, wicked grin spread over Griselda’s face. She cast a glance to the pixies, who were hovering at the ready a respectful distance away, then leaned forward and beckoned Marianne to do the same. She did, not because she didn't trust her attendants’ discretion, but because she wished to spare them from the horror about to follow.

“You ever heard of a Double Frogman?” Griselda whispered.

“Uh…no?”

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to try this one with Bog. You’re gonna be in for a treat—!”


End file.
